


Be There For Me

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian gets a hug in the end I promise, Emotional Trauma, Escape Attempts, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, birds in danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian has a number of flashbacks to training when he was a kid, while on patrol. Good thing Bruce is here to take care of him.





	Be There For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give my thanks to Audreycritter for helping me so much with this fic <3

The Iceberg Lounge was humming with the sounds of battle. Penguin’s men surged towards Batman and Robin in waves of gunfire and brandished knives. Damian grinned, adrenaline pumping through him as he knocked back blades, decked idiots, and took out his share of the goons.

It was a good night. They’d finally closed in on Penguin’s latest operations, breaking the scandal wide open in his own ‘legit’ lounge. Damian hated the place. It was gaudy and cold. He might have been able to stand the horrid decor if he didn’t always leave half frozen.

They knocked men down until they reached Penguin, squawking and frothing his fury at their ambush. Batman charged forward, and Damian hung back, pausing to make sure no one was getting back up to attack from behind.

Under Penguin’s protests and return fire, Damian heard panicked chirping. Set off to the side, like some kind of decoration, was a gold gilded cage containing a bird. It was fluttering, throwing itself against the bars in an attempt to get away, to get out, to get free.

Damian couldn’t breathe.

Escape training had started later than many things for Damian. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been competent enough, or learned, it was simply the timeline Mother had chosen. Damian had done well early in the training. He had a knack for ropes, his fingers small and clever enough to tease knots out easily. Sooner than advised, Mother suggested something more complex than practicing in the safety of the base or under the careful eye of his teachers.

It had been cold. Damian remembered that. He’d woken up late at night in a shed, lacking any insulation, and freezing in the desert’s nighttime climate. He’d been foolish in his choice for pajamas that night, something light, and no socks.

The ropes tying him to a metal chair in the center of the room were not done in a knot Damian knew. He had expected, when Mother had announced he’d be challenged soon, that it would be one he had undone countless times. One he had trained on. Still, he was confident, that no matter how disoriented he was or how different the knot, he could manage to escape and find his way home.

The problem was, his fingers were stiff. Slow and clumsy from the cold.

Damian tried. He really attempted to work the knots to get them to come loose as easily as he did at home. His fingers burned and tingled with the movement.

He’d been sure he could do it. Positive that this would be as easy as previous tests.

Twenty minutes into fighting with the knots Damian was starting to panic. He was cold, teeth chattering, fingers _aching_. His chest hurt with the chill in the air. He couldn’t see anything. They hadn’t given him a light or even a window.

His face was the only warm thing in the room, hot with embarrassment and held back tears. He sucked them back and tried again, fingers slipping in a rush against the rough texture of the rope and burning.

He’d choked back a sob. After another failed attempt Damian had forgotten about not crying. He was frustrated and cold and everything was terrible. He’d been sure he was going to freeze there, left to die because he had failed.

Tears had turned to panic, and Damian had pulled at the ropes in a stupid attempt at snapping them or forcing some change. All he’d done was bruise his wrists and force the ropes to cut into them, spurning more tears.

It had taken Damian an embarrassingly long time to calm down and try again. His head hurt and his wrists throbbed, and all he wanted was bed, but he’d known no one was coming for him. That was the challenge, save himself or he wasn’t worthy.

That little bird was all alone too. Penguin certainly did not care to release it. The poor creature was terrified, trapped, and unable to save itself in the midst of the chaos going on.

Damian dropped his vigil to rush towards it, his mind set only on freeing it.

He had no idea how it hadn’t managed to get shot yet, and was furious with Penguin for trapping it here in the first place. It was an environment nowhere near healthy for the bird, and there had been no care taken for it’s home. The temperature of the lounge was far too cold for this species. The cage was decorative, with no thought to space or exercise.

“Come on, little one.” Damian cooed at it, his voice gentle, movements slow.

He did his best to shield it from the action still going on behind them, to keep the bird from seeing the confusion and further riling it up. Damian shushed it a little more, speaking softly in an attempt to soothe it.

At last the bird stopped attempting to squish its way through the bars and settled on the bottom of the cage, it’s tiny chest heaving. Damian unlatched the cage and scooped the bird into his hands. It was so small he could keep it tucked carefully in his palms, and safe from Penguin’s splatter of gunfire filling the room. It was shuddering as he held it, and all Damian wanted to do was warm it up and continue soothing, but there were other things to focus on.

Damian tucked it into a fold of his hood, right by his neck where he could feel its fluff. It was secure there, and covered enough it couldn’t wiggle out and fly into more danger. He kept a hand close, even feeling the pressure and flutter of its chest against his neck, he needed to know it was safe, warm, and not alone.

He was relieved to see that Batman had subdued Penguin at last, and thankfully none of his men had stirred. Together they worked to secure everyone.

Even with the little bird tucked close Damian wasn’t breathing right. He’d tried to ignore the way his hands had shook tightening zip ties. His legs felt like the jello Grayson loved to have as a treat.

Once they left the building Damian tried to force his body to relax. Shuffling against his collar bone reminded him of his companion.

He knew he shouldn’t keep the bird, but he needed to make sure it was okay. He tugged it out of his collar and cupped it in his palms. It chirped at him and fluttered, rising up to fly close to his face, making happy sounds.

Damian smiled at it, happy it hadn’t been harmed at all while he’d moved it back outside. It flew around his head before taking off into Gotham’s skies. He watched it for a moment before turning his attention back to his immediate surroundings.

Father was giving him a curious look that Damian shrugged off. He hoped he wasn’t pale.

“Let’s do a quick pass around some areas and head home.” Father said, pulling his grapple from his waist.

Damian nodded, happy Father didn’t seem to be alerted to his uncomfortable state. He followed Father’s example, and raised his own grapple as Batman was tugged into the air. He aimed at a similar spot and fired.

Normally when Damian pulled himself up to a building he was prepared, he could land easily and safely. This time, the way the air rushed past him made his head light. He couldn’t seem to get rid of the memories of cold and darkness still trying to pull him down.

He missed the ledge. His boot slipped and made him tumble back off the roof he should have landed on. Damian’s heart jumped into his throat and he scrambled for his line, still connected to the building, just catching himself in time to flop against brick. He held tight to the grapple line and tried to catch his breath.

Black started to fade into the edges of his vision, and he pressed his cheek against the rough cold of the brick, squeezing his eyes shut.

Damian was back in that shed, terrified he wasn’t going to be able to leave the spot he was on. That he was stuck. That no one was coming. Cold air wormed its way down his neck, finding purchase against his skin.

He was afraid. No one was coming. No one wanted a child who could not complete the task before him. He had failed. Failure was unacceptable. No one was coming.

A sob built against the back of his throat, hard and choking. He felt hot tears fighting against tightly squeezed eyelids. Panic started to build in his chest again. He could not fail. He had to get back. Had to go home. Had to do something.

Warmth brushed his arm, painfully taught as he gripped the wire.

“Damian.” Father’s tone was soft, and careful.

Eyes still shut against everything, Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. Afraid the sob would bubble out instead of a promise that he was fine. That he could finish patrol.

“Can you look at me, son?” Father asked, “If not, that’s okay. I want to get you down so you’re safe.”

Damian peeled his eyes open and looked at his father. Shame pooled in his stomach, and yet he still felt glued to the wire. No amount of guilt over his situation, or relief that _Father was there_ seemed to be enough to get his muscles moving. He couldn’t speak, his chest still tight with terror, throat closed with that sob he couldn’t quite swallow.

“I’m going to carry you down.” Father said.

He was holding onto his own grapple line, and propped against the building with the ease of an experienced climber. Father hooked his belt into the line so he could use both hands. He reached out, putting a hand first on Damian’s shoulder for a moment, then moving to lift Damian from where he hung.

It was that contact that seemed to allow Damian to breathe again, the tightness in his throat easing as Father held him, lifting Damian so he wasn’t holding himself up on his own anymore. Damian allowed himself to be settled against Father’s side, but still didn’t release his grip from the line.

Father tugged his hands off the line one at a time. He was gentle, unlike Damian’s tutors had been. Failed training had resulted in impatient hands, and rough grabbing. There had been raised voices and angry dismissals as well. Damian was glad Father did not seem angry.

Damian plastered his first free hand against Father’s chest, wishing it was a t-shirt he could grab and hold for more stability. Still, the slightly raised edge of the bat symbol on Father’s chest was comforting and familiar.

When Father got his other hand off the line, Damian thought he was going to feel himself fall, but Father’s grip on him was tight. Then Father tangled their fingers together for a moment, leaning down to kiss his knuckles, before letting go.

While they climbed down Damian buried his face in Father’s shoulder. He breathed in the smell of kevlar and lingering scent of smoke and ice from their previous fight. It was comforting, and helped to clear his head a little bit.

“Can you stand?” Father asked, Damian could feel the rumble of his words where he laid against his neck.

Can and want were two different things. Damian wanted to stay right where he was. He couldn’t though, not after already worrying Father. The shame and mortification was starting to catch up with him now.

“I can.” Damian said, voice surprising him with its hoarseness.

Father set him down, and paused, looking him over again, “We’re going home.”

It was not surprising. They had planned to leave early anyway, Damian’s reaction only moved that timetable up. Father would not let him patrol after such a public display. Truth be told, Damian did not want to stay out anyway. He was still unsettled, his chest aching, attention scattered.

“Do you want to talk about it now, or after we get home?”

“Later.” Damian said.

When they got home Damian realized how exhausted he was. He climbed out of the car and wanted to melt into the floor. Instead he got in the shower and sat on the tile, lacking the energy to stand for too long, but also needing the way a shower always seemed to rejuvenate him.

He pulled on soft pajamas, over sized and comfortable. Even with the shower and the softness and his exhaustion Damian’s stomach was sick. He’d frozen up. Worse than that, he’d lost himself on patrol, not once but twice.

That could have gotten Father killed.

Damian losing himself in memories could have been fatal during the fight with Penguin. It could have been fatal to Damian tonight.

Worse than all that? Damian was still shaken. He couldn’t stop thinking about being alone. Being left. Stuck. Facing a challenge he couldn’t quite manage. He was cold and upset and he wanted his father, but he couldn’t weigh him down with anything else.

He climbed onto his bed and curled up. Alfred the cat hopped up and nuzzled Damian’s face before settling close to his chest, his tail brushing Damian’s knees.

Damian reached out and scratched Alfred behind one of his ears, “Hey.” he said, voice soft.

Alfred did not answer, only closed his eyes against the scratching. This did not surprise Damian. Cats did not talk. He often wished they did. Or that he could talk to animals. There were many points in his life he wished he could talk to his pets. They were comforting and sweet as it was, he could only imagine what they might say if able to communicate verbally.

A knock preceded Damian’s door opening. Father stepped in. He had showered as well, his hair a bit messy from the towel. He wore a black tee shirt Damian knew would be soft, and sweatpants.

Father moved inside and sat on the bed. Damian sat up, dislodging Alfred as he did so. The cat seemed to realize he was being overrun by people and leapt off the bed, leaving the room with a swish of his tail.

“Sorry to scare him off.” Father said.

“He will be back eventually.” Damian said.

They sat together in silence for a moment before Father spoke again, “About tonight.”

Damian tried not to stiffen at the word, but he must have showed his worry because Father seemed to soften further, face relaxing, and shoulders slumping forward.

“How are you doing?”

It was not what Damian had expected Father to say. A question of what had happened, or perhaps a discussion of professionalism during patrol were what Damian had imagined. This caught him off guard, leaving him unsure in his answer.

He felt his stomach twist. He wanted to say terrible. He didn’t want to say anything really, only fall into Father’s chest. He had messed up. This fact stopped him from leaning into childish desires. He needed to face that before he did anything else.

“Fine.” his throat was thick.

“Damian,” Father started, then froze, blinking at him, “Oh, Damian.” his tone was almost broken.

Damian tried not to squirm, or flee.

“Do you think I’m upset? Or that you did something wrong?”

Now Damian stiffened, “I did.”

Father slumped a bit, but there was a spark in his eyes that was familiar. This was quickly becoming a Grayson conversation. One where his father saw right through everything Damian was saying, and made Damian realize there might be faults in his logic.

“You did nothing wrong.” Father said, “Nothing at all.”

Damian shook his head, his logic still strong, “You do not know the full story. I had a similar...issue during the fight with Penguin. I could have gotten you killed. It is an unacceptable--”

His protest was cut off by Father pulling him into a hug. Damian gasped, and with that gasp he started to cry. It was as if his body had been waiting all night for that hug. Like all the pain had been building behind a wall that only this could tear down. He gave up fighting or arguing about his faults and buried his face in Father’s chest, and sobbed.

“You’re okay.” Father rumbled, voice warm, hand rubbing circles on Damian’s back, “You’re okay.”

It took Damian a long time to collect himself, and when he did he didn’t pull away. He crawled into Father’s lap and curled there. Father shifted to accommodate him, hand tangling in his hair.

“Was it a flashback?” Father asked.

Damian nodded, one hand finding Father’s shirt again. Like holding on might keep him from falling into memory again.

“What was it?”

“A training mission.” Damian mumbled, doubly exhausted now that he’d cried, “I was new to escape training and taken somewhere while I was asleep.”

Father hummed, fingers beginning to card through Damian’s hair in a soothing movement.

Damian would never tell Father, but he loved the feeling of fingers in his hair. It grounded him, and made him feel safe. In these moments he knew he did not have to worry.

“It was cold. My fingers were stiff and I panicked.” Damian curled a little closer, grip tightening on Father’s shirt, “No one came for me.”

Father leaned down and pressed a kiss into his hair, “You got out on your own?”

“Eventually.” Damian said, voice whisper thin, “I took too long, though. All night.”

“I got stuck once, well more than once. But this was particularly memorable.” Father said.

Damian looked up into his face. Father was looking towards Damian’s wall, distant with the memory.

“I was also doing escape training. It was a little more extreme than yours I’d bet.”

Damian sleepy in that way he only got after a good cry, but he was curious as well. He knew Father had learned to escape many things. It was crucial to his quest. He was not sure what extent that training had gone to, nor of any specific examples.

“How so?” he asked.

“I had Mister Miracle help me.” Damian felt Father’s chuckle, “I was tied up, cuffed, then locked in a safe, and dropped in a lake.”

He shifted a bit to look up at Father again, the man was looking back down at him now, something funny in his look. Damian frowned, nose wrinkled, “That sounds like something from a movie.”

“I got the idea from one.” Father said, “And I was too stubborn to listen to advice about how to make it safer.”

Damian gaped at him, it was ridiculous. A movie?

“You are not lying, are you?” he asked.

Father shook his head, “Nope, I was young and very foolish. It’s embarrassing remembering all the things that went wrong. The safe wasn’t waterproof, my flashlight died a few seconds in, and I dropped my picks in the water so I had to fumble for them.”

Father shook his head, “I was terrified I wouldn’t make it. We had a time limit set up, but that would have far exceeded the water filling the safe.”

Damian could picture it. The cold, blind terror, that he would have felt in Father’s situation. It was a bit like what he’d felt in the desert. He snuggled a little closer to his father’s chest.

“But you are here.”

“I am. I got out, but I still dream about that day. And every so often when I’m in a tight, wet space, I can’t help but flash back. I can’t control it, but I can talk about it later, and try not to replicate the experience.”

Damian nodded, “It was the bird.” he whispered, “It was locked up and afraid. It couldn’t get out, and no one was going to bother with it.”

Father’s hand found Damian’s hair again, “I’m sorry.”

“Penguin was an idiot to have that type of animal in his lounge.” Damian said.

“He was.” Father agreed.

Damian closed his eyes and bit back a yawn. It felt good to talk about it. Better to know that Father had faced something similar. Father was warm, and so was Damian. He was safe. And he was happy. Father had been there this time. He had helped. He’d come back for Damian.

“Thank you.” Damian said.

Father squeezed him tighter, “Always. If you ever need me, Damian, I’ll be there.”

He shifted, moving off Father’s waist to raise himself up on his knees. He threw his arms around Father’s neck in a quick, tight hug. Then he dropped back down to sit.

Father’s smile was large, and he reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair, “Want me to stick around for a bit?”

Damian nodded, “I would like that.”

He wiggled back and found where his comforter started, tugging it back. While he worked on the blankets, Father stood, making room for Damian to finish pulling the covers back. When Damian settled into the bed, Father tucked him in, an action Damian was getting used to. Even Richard had rarely done it, but Father seemed intent on it anytime he was around for Damian’s bedtime.

Father settled onto the side of the bed Damian wasn’t in, and pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, “Earlier, I found a video you might like.” he started, “It’s pretty relaxing so I think it will work for tonight.”

Damian leaned over into Father’s arm and blinked sleepily at the screen. The video was an artist creating art on a canvas with string and paint. It was fascinating, and incredibly soothing. They watched two before Damian stopped fighting the heaviness of his lids. The last thing he remembered was Father’s kiss on his forehead, and then he was out.


End file.
